


Just Say Yes

by Heatherbel



Series: Say Yes [1]
Category: The Mentalist, The Mentalist (TV)
Genre: A smidgin of angst, Caution - May cause yearning, F/M, Oral Sex, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Shameless Smut, Swearing, The ancient Romans were filthy, The mental image of Marcus Pike in shorts, Unprotected Sex, ye olde porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherbel/pseuds/Heatherbel
Summary: Love hasn't been kind to Special Agent Marcus Pike.After his divorce he thought he'd finally found true love, only for his fiance to dump him over the phone for another man.Now, he already has a new start - a new job in Washington DC, but what he really needs is a holiday.And maybe, just maybe, it's about time for his luck to change.*********************************“You look at him across the table, candlelight playing in his kind eyes, unruly chestnut hair falling over his forehead and curling at the tips. His strong jaw, both defined and softened by his beard. He's beautiful, you think. You can't imagine picking another man over Marcus, and you think that either that Jane guy must be truly special, or his ex is a total idiot.Either way you're so glad, because it means Marcus sitting here with you.“
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Original Female Character(s), Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You
Series: Say Yes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054892
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Just Say Yes

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to @yespolkadot_kitty for all her endless encouragement and beta skills, and @jura-moon for the cheerleading and delightful fellow history geek chat.

You stand for a moment and just breathe it all in. Back at the forum the ruins of Pompeii are buzzing with crowds of tourists, but out here on the periphery it is eerily quiet. You haven't seen another soul for blocks, and the buildings around you in this particular street are well enough preserved that just for a moment you can imagine that the inhabitants are just taking a siesta and not long in their graves. 

It is hot, almost oppressively so, the Italian summer is no joke, but excitement lightens your footsteps as you take the chance to explore. You glance at the map in your hands, trying to get your bearings.

You know you've got turned around somewhere but you aren't quite sure where. You feel like a kid in a candy store, your inner historian giddy with excitement at finally being here, every building a new revelation, and you know you've definitely not been paying enough attention to your map. 

After a minute of flipping through the pages of your guide book you're pretty sure you've figured out where you are. You turn into the next building, delighted to have a brief respite from the sun's rays. The atria floor is covered in the most exquisite mosaic and you can’t take your eyes off it. 

With a thud you are smacked off balance and careen sideways, hitting the ground hard. 

"Ow, fuck!" The shock knocks the breath out of you and it takes you a second to realise your assailant has dropped to their knees in front of you. 

"Oh shit, shit, I'm so, so sorry. I was distracted looking at the frescoes and I never saw you." 

Brown. He has chocolate brown eyes, Nutella eyes, the sort that crinkle at the corners. It is altogether one of the most pleasing faces you've ever laid eyes on. You aren't sure if the tightness in your chest is down to the impact of your fall or the deep baritone of his voice. His accent is American, midwestern maybe, you can't quite tell.

"Are you okay?"

You reluctantly tear your eyes away from the lovely face before you, taking a second to try and take stock of yourself. You wiggle your ankles experimentally and they both seem fine, but when you try to bend your legs a jolt of pain from your right knee forces out an involuntary gasp. 

"Oh god, let me take a look." Very warm and very large hands gently cradle your leg and stretch it out in front of you. You thank god you took the time to shave your legs this morning, given how closely he's inspecting it. "It looks like it's just a graze, but I'm afraid it might bruise. Do you want me to go see if I can get some ice?"

"Huh?" It takes a moment for his words to sink in, you'd been distracted by the way his bottom lip is pouting ever so slightly in concern. 

"Do you speak English? Eh… Lei parla inglese?"

That startles you out of your stupor.

"Oh, eh, yeah, yes I speak English. Thank you but I don't think I need ice. It's really just a scuff, I'm sure I'll live. Done way worse to myself before..." You stop yourself when you realise you are babbling like a mad woman. 

You start to shift, favouring your leg and he takes both your hands to help ease you to your feet. 

It’s then that you catch a glimpse of the wall behind him.

It is filth, pure filth, of the most ancient kind. The frescoes that stretch across the walls are utterly explicit, depicting naked men and women engaging in every sex act you've ever imagined and a few more besides. 

Your eyebrow quirks.

"Did you say you were busy looking at the frescoes?"

He pauses in mid rescue of your sunglasses from the floor, they must have been knocked flying when you fell.

"Oh god, eh yes, eh, um, purely out of professional interest, I, um, work in fine art." It seems it is his turn to stumble over his words. He ducks his head and rubs his neck bashfully. You are amused to see a creeping red tinge of embarrassment is visible, even through the golden glow of his tan. "I'm so sorry for bumping into you. I really wasn't expecting to run into anyone else this far off the main tourist trail." He looks down at his hands and lets out a groan, " _oh no,_ I'm sorry about your glasses too," he holds the shattered pair out for you to take, looking mortified. 

"It's okay," you assure him, "they weren't expensive."

"No it's absolutely not okay, I'll pay to replace them."

"So from looking at that," you gesture towards the decidedly lewd artwork on the walls, "I'm guessing this _isn't_ the _Casa Del Nave Europe_ then?" You take a moment to brush dust off the back of your legs. 

"No, no I don't think it is. I don't even know if this building has a name." He pulls a map from his shorts pocket and starts unfolding it awkwardly, first entirely the wrong way round and then upside down. You are endeared by how clearly flustered he is. 

You turn your eyes back to the wall, and the picture of a woman sucking off her client. Well there'll be no prizes for guessing what the purpose of this building had been.

"So do you make a habit of frequenting brothels often?" You ask, with a sly grin. 

He drops his map entirely and you snort. When he glances up and sees that you are clearly teasing, his face relaxes into a smile. 

"No, I can't say I've ever been in one before. I was just so amazed by the paint work, you can still see the brush strokes when you get up close. Did you know they painted them while the plaster was still wet to allow the pigments to bond permanently into the wall? To have the talent to paint so well and so quickly…" He trails off. 

You smile at his enthusiasm, it is familiar, he sounds just like you do when someone sets you off on a historical tangent. 

"I did know that, but did you know they dusted marble powder on the plaster first to give it such a smooth finish?"

His eyebrows raise with a smile, "it seems you really know your Roman paintings."

"I do. I'm just an amateur enthusiast though, unlike yourself." You step back to take in the full view of the fresco. "Wow, what a menu."

"Menu?"

"You know when you go to a restaurant and they have pictures on the menu?" He nods, "well..." You wave at the wall.

You hadn't thought it possible but he turns a little redder, although his face remains remarkably stoic. 

"I'm Marcus by the way," he turns and reaches out a hand for you to shake, and you clasp his fingers in your own, appreciative of his strong grip. You are a big believer that a handshake can tell you a lot about a person, and Marcus' says only good things about him. You tell him your name and smile when he repeats it aloud, as if committing it to memory. 

"I just figured that once we've spent time looking at ancient porn together, we should probably be on first name terms," he laughs, although his voice still sounds a touch reedy with embarrassment. 

"Well it's been a pleasure, Marcus, but I've still got a few more sights to see so I'll leave you here with your delightful lady friends," you nod at the wall. 

"Oh I think we've spent more than enough time together for a lifetime," he laughs again. "Would you mind if I tagged along? I don’t want you wandering alone out there with all the uneven ground and a sore leg. I'll see if I can buy you some new sun-glasses at the gift shop."

You say yes without hesitation and then hurriedly start justifying this to yourself. He seems very nice, and not creepy in the slightest, there is also the small matter of how lovely he is to look at. 

He lets you lead the way as you step out into the street and begin making your way back towards the forum. 

You think of an interesting fact to share, "did you know the Romans called their brothels _lupenar_ ? It translates to wolf den in English, and the sex workers were the _lupa_ , she wolves."

"You speak Latin?"

"Well I can read it just about, I definitely can't speak it." 

His eyes light up at this news. "So you can translate things for me? 

You nod, fairly confident in your ability to do just that. 

"Then what about that graffiti over there?" He points at a taverna wall.

"Oh that says _'Elect Numerius Barcha, a good man, as duovir.'_ A duovir was the town magistrate," you explain.

"So it's just election propaganda?"

"Yeah just the same as an Elect Obama poster, only a hell of a lot older," you laugh. "It's one of the joys of history that no matter how much has changed in the last 2000 years, so much has stayed the same. People are always just people in any century. There's some fun bets scratched into the seats at the amphitheatre too."

"It's fascinating!" He agrees, nodding earnestly, "you're very knowledgeable." 

You give your accidental companion a bashful smile. Hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes linger just a second too long on how the soft fabric of his t-shirt strains across his broad shoulders. 

You round the corner into the next Regio together, scuffing up dust as you go, and you reach into your bag for your bottle of water. After a couple of hours in the relentless sun it's sadly reached the temperature of warm bathwater, but needs must in the heat and you grimace as you dutifully gulp it down. You offer some to Marcus but he declines, rummaging in his rucksack for his own bottle. 

"What about that one?" Marcus asks, pointing at text on the wall to the left of you. Your eyes slide over the letters and as you take in their meaning the last drops of your water catch in your throat. Coughing and trying to recover your composure you steady yourself. It's another brothel, but you're both adults here after all, academically inclined adults, and so you translate for him. 

"That one says 'thrust slowly'." Despite your best efforts you can hear your voice pitch higher with a squeak of embarrassment. 

Now it's Marcus's turn to choke, although he's less graceful about it than you; delivering a picture perfect spit-take of acqua onto the ancient cobbles. 

His eyes have gone so wide, and you can’t help it, you laugh uncontrollably, full chest heaving giggles that take you over and you reach out and clutch his arm to steady you through your mirth. Marcus starts to laugh too, whether at the graffiti or your reaction you're not entirely sure. 

“Just how many brothels _are_ there in this town?” He wheezes.

"At least 25 that they know of," you snicker back, beginning to regain your equilibrium.

" _Jeeesus!!_ " 

And that sets you both off again.

It takes you both a minute to recover but it's like the giggle fit has broken down the awkwardness, you no longer feel like strangers. You discover through your chatter that not only is he not here with an organised excursion, but that he's holidaying alone, much like yourself. 

You reach the Temple of Isis just as a tour group is heading in and you grab Marcus's hand and tug him in after them. You wind yourselves to the back of the crowd, making sure you are both out of the tour guide's eye-line but still close enough to hear. This is harder to do with Marcus than yourself, he's so damn tall. 

"Is this not technically stealing?" He huffs to you, out of the side of his mouth.

"Well, I won't tell if you won't?" You whisper back.

"I am a man of the law you know." 

Well, _that's_ intriguing, you think. 

"I thought you said you worked in fine art?"

"I do both."

"Both?"

"FBI Art Crime Team." 

Your eyebrows shoot up. 

"Shhhhhhhhhh." A very angry tour group member shushes you and you both visibly cringe at the reprimand. You bite your lip to stifle another giggle and you huddle together like naughty school children as you take in the rest of the guide's lecture. 

As the tour begins to move on, you hiss "leg it" at him and swing out behind the group, bolting up a side street, Marcus following close on your heels. 

"What are we running from?" He pants, when you halt after sprinting an embarrassingly short distance, gasping in the heat. 

"Oh nothing," you laugh, "isn't that what you're supposed to do after committing a crime? Head off on your getaway sticks?"

"Getaway sticks?" He raises a very amused eyebrow at you. 

You point at your knees, "your legs silly."

"Oh _I'm_ silly? I'm beginning to think you've got a screw loose."

"All the best people do," you giggle.

"I think I'm starting to see that," he says and smiles that devastating, crinkly eyed smile again. 

You roam about for a little longer, bouncing facts off each other as you visit the ruins of the baths and the theatre before tromping back to the forum and eventually the visitor centre. 

You agree to go and grab a couple of bottles of mercifully chilled Cola Lite from the canteen, and rendezvous with Marcus in the gift shop. From across the room you take the chance to admire him as he wanders the shop. He's lovely, you think, with his arresting eyes and pretty face, his Roman nose. You love the way the broadness of his shoulders runs down to narrow hips and a great pair of legs. He looks up and spots you and it's only then you realise that he seems perturbed. 

"What's wrong?" You ask as you reach him and pass him his bottle of Coke.

"They don't have any sunglasses," he explains. 

"Honestly, it's _fine,_ they weren't an expensive pair, I've had a lovely afternoon, that's more than enough repayment."

"No, it's not. Listen where are you staying? I could buy a pair and send them to your hotel."

"Oh I'm in Sorrento, but I'm not in a hotel."

"Sorrento?" He smiles, "me too." 

"Are you busy tomorrow?" 

"Well, I can't say I had any specific plans." 

"Meet me in the afternoon, say about three o’clock, once the shops have reopened from siesta and I'll buy you a pair of glasses then." 

"You really don't have to do that."

"Humour me, please?"

And how could you say no to that?

This tall, handsome man who wants to take you out and buy you things. He _was_ responsible for the loss of your old pair after all. And so, for the second time in as many hours you find yourself saying a very wholehearted yes to Marcus. 

To your dismay you discover that it's nearly time for the archaeological park to close, so you buy a couple of little souvenirs. A postcard, a fridge magnet, your budget won't stretch to much more, and the two of you begin the dusty walk back to the train station. 

He's on the same train as you, the Circumvesuviana, and you end up sitting squashed together on the busy carriage, trying not to dwell on the feel of his thigh pressed against your own. 

On the train, it is even hotter than outside if such a thing is possible. The breeze coming in the windows akin to being blasted with a warm hair-dryer. The sheen of sweat on Marcus's neck is distracting as he talks and you wonder what it would be like to put your mouth there, to taste his skin. 

You shake yourself, Marcus is a friend, barely that - an acquaintance, and thoughts like that are silly and inadvisable. The heat is clearly getting to you. 

Thankfully the journey isn't long, only half an hour but you notice that even as people get off at the next stops and the carriage empties, Marcus makes no move to sit further away. Instead, he stays pressed against you despite the heat. 

You shake yourself again. You are clearly reading too much into this. 

You finally disembark at Sorrento Station, and stand awkwardly for a moment in the street outside. 

"So, where are you staying?" You ask. 

"Just at the Hotel Bristol." Wow, The Bristol is _fancy_ , he's clearly having a very different holiday than you; in your budget, room only accommodation, overlooking a busy main road. 

"What about you?"

'I'm in an apartment on the Corso Italia."

"Wow, that's so cool, it must be so nice to be right in the town centre, get a real feel for life here." And he really means it, you think. For a man who's profession involves dealing with criminals, there's something charmingly guileless about him. Maybe it's the artist in him, you wonder. 

You agree to meet at a cafe the next day, and swap phone numbers, although you warn him that calling you isn't likely to work. Your network reception here is patchy at best. 

There's an awkward moment when you don't quite know how to say goodbye, and then you throw caution to the wind and go all in for a hug. He seems to welcome it, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently in that way that only the best huggers know how to do. Even with a day spent in the heat of Pompeii he smells good, and you pull away more reluctantly than you want to admit. 

Finally, with one last wave and a smile you go your separate ways. 

  
  


********************

  
  


It's late at your apartment and as you are brushing your teeth you hear your phone buzz from its place on the bed. You finish up in the bathroom and flick your phone on as you slide beneath the sheets. It's a text. 

Marcus Pike: Goodnight xx

 _Goodnight x,_ you reply, and fall asleep with a smile on your lips. 

  
  


********************

  
  


The next day you arrive at the cafe ten minutes early and are delighted to find Marcus already at a table waiting for you. 

His face lights up when he spots you, and your heart does a somersault at the sight of him. He's dressed in a white button down and khaki pants, so much smarter than yesterday's shorts and t-shirt, and he looks like summer-time personified. 

You've tried to make an effort too, wearing your best dress, and you try not to examine too closely just why you want to dress up for this man. 

"Hey," he smiles and his eyes seem somehow impossibly prettier than they did yesterday. The sunlight sparking the dark cocoa with shades of honeyed amber. 

"Hey," you smile back, you know you have a goofy grin on your face, but you can't bring yourself to care. 

"Sit down, I'll get you a drink, they do great milkshakes here. Do you like milkshakes?"

"Yeah I love them," and as you sit he passes you the menu to let you choose. 

You chat for hours, about art and history mostly, but you notice that whenever the subject matter ventures towards the personal, he veers it elsewhere. The drinks on your table switch from sweet milkshakes topped with clouds of whipped cream to a rather more adult bottle of local white wine. You feel just a little giddy, and you're unsure if it's the sweet grapes or the man in front of you that is creating the effect. 

Eventually he stands and offers you an arm, "come on, we should go have a look at the shops before it gets too late."

You loop your arm through his and let him lead you into the old town, the quaint cobbled streets lined with shops that overflow with trinkets, designer clothing and artisanal wares. 

He tugs you into one that has a very fancy array of sunglasses in the window, and pulls a pair off the display before carefully placing them on your face. 

"Gorgeous," he says, and your heart stutters, unsure if he means the glasses or you. You look in the mirror provided and they do look good, really good. He has excellent taste. 

"They're lovely," you agree.

"If you like them then they're yours," he says and waves at the sales clerk to let them know you've made a choice.

You take them off your head and glance at the label.

"Marcus!" You grit out, "these are Ray-Bans! They're €200, you're not buying me these." 

"Yes, I am." 

"No, you are not. The pair you broke, by accident I should add, were only €15!"

"Look, just let me buy you the glasses, and agree to let me buy you dinner tonight and then we'll call it even." You want to argue with this twisted logic. How does him spending even more money on you begin to make you even? But he gives you a hopeful smile and you feel the fight going out of you. Somehow you say yes once more. 

You turn to the bemused sales clerk, who has been waiting patiently through your exchange, and pass them the sunglasses to be wrapped up. As Marcus heads to the till to pay you find yourself shaking your head. Who is this man? And why can't you say no to him? Why do you not _want_ to say no?

He hands you the parcel with your new glasses, now the most expensive pair you own, many times over, and you carefully stow them in your handbag. It's early evening and you won't need them today. 

You wander the shops back towards the marina and suddenly he draws you under an archway, greenery is everywhere and the air is fragrant with the peppery scent of pink bougainvillea. 

The restaurant, _il Buco,_ is a candlelit dream, set into a medieval arched vault, and you are bemused to discover that you already have a reservation. You raise an eyebrow in askance, but Marcus shrugs it off, as the maître d' leads you to your table. 

The meal is gorgeous, definitely the best you've had in all your travels, and the wine is incredible, but even it can't compare to the company. 

He's charming and funny, and regales you with stories from art school, his training in Quantico and his work with the art squad, and talking to him is as easy as breathing you think. 

You excitedly explain that this is only the first week of a month-long adventure, you have Florence to explore next, then you're moving on to Verona and the lakes before spending a final few days in Venice.

Eventually you talk about what brought you here, and when you admit to running away from a broken heart, Marcus does the same. Although his story is far worse than your own simple tale of a bad break up. You hadn't been engaged, they hadn't left you for someone else, and you'd never been divorced. He admits he'd given himself a few months to settle into his new job and then used some of the masses of leave he had accrued, to just, get away from it all. 

He'd always wanted to visit Italy so he'd booked a week in Rome and then a week here. His boss had tried to persuade him to take longer but he thought it would be enough time to recharge. He's remarkably candid, but he also seems so fragile as he speaks, and you understand why he'd been hesitant to talk about his personal life before. 

You look at him across the table, candlelight playing in his kind eyes, unruly chestnut hair falling over his forehead and curling at the tips. His strong jaw, both defined and softened by his beard. He's _beautiful,_ you think. You can't imagine picking another man over Marcus, and you think that either that Jane guy must be truly special, or his ex is a total idiot. 

Either way you're so glad, because it means Marcus sitting here with you. 

You decline dessert, and are waiting on the bill when the waiter places two golden hued glasses of limoncello in front of you. 

"Oh we didn't order this," you say. 

"It's on the house, _bella_ , young lovers should always finish their meal with something sweet," and he walks away. 

You feel your cheeks burn, you aren't lovers, but you're not sure you're just friends either. Marcus just smiles and sips his drink, and you do the same, enjoying the burn as the sweet liqueur slides down your throat. 

When you emerge out into the street the sun has just begun to set, casting a warm twilight glow in the sky. 

"Do you want to take a stroll through the old town and find some gelato for dessert?" He asks.

You offer to take him to an amazing place you know nearby. 

He nods enthusiastically and links his arm in yours again. You aren't sure what this is exactly, is it a date? If it is, it might be the best one you've ever been on. You try to tamp down the little flutter of excitement in your chest at the thought. 

You stroll to the gelateria and are utterly overwhelmed by the choice of flavours, ultimately opting for a scoop of amarena, while Marcus picks a rich chocolate that matches his eyes. For once, he lets you pay. 

You walk to a viewing point over the harbour just as the sun hits the horizon, the sky cast in shades of purple and gold. The air is heady with the scent of lemon oil from the orchards and the salt tang of the sea and you think this might just be heaven on earth. 

Marcus finds you a spot to sit together on a low stone wall and as you settle you finally take a mouthful of your gelato and let out a low moan. 

"That good?" He asks, amused at your reaction. 

"Yes," you say emphatically, "you wanna try?" He nods and you hold out a spoonful for him. He leans forward and you can’t take your eyes off his full lips as they wrap around the spoon, a thrill going through you as he lets out a groan in appreciation. You want to hear that sound again. 

You sit in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes as you eat, knees nudging, just enjoying the scenery and the warm night breeze. 

"Do you want to try mine? You'd better have some now or I'm going to finish the whole thing," he laughs, holding out his spoon. You catch it between your lips, enjoying the rich taste of the chocolate ice cream on your tongue. 

"You have a little," he gestures towards the corner of his lip and you lick your own. 

"Better?" 

"Not quite, here-" and then his lips are on yours, soft, unsure, more a question than a kiss. You're startled for a second and then you're kissing him back, running your hands through his hair to bring him closer, wanting more. You lick into his mouth and he tastes of limoncello and chocolate and you were wrong before, _this_ is heaven you think. 

His hands are in your hair, his kisses needy and tender. You feel a spark deep inside, you want him, and you can't quite believe that this is real and he wants you too. Eventually he breaks away, breathless from the kiss, "come back to my hotel with me?" He breathes, and you say yes, of course you do. 

You never want to stop saying yes to this man. 

He pulls you to your feet with an urgency you haven't seen before and you start walking down the cobbled lane in the direction of his hotel.

He wraps one arm around you, pulling you close, long fingers gripping at your waist. You feel entirely swept off your feet and your heart races with anticipation. 

"Wait a minute, isn't your hotel over 20 minutes walk away?" You ask.

"Yeah?"

"We can be at mine in two."

"Much better idea."

You walk as quickly as your legs can carry you, dodging Vespa scooters as you run across the main road. You take the stairs two at a time and are slightly breathless by the time you reach your room. You unlock the door with shaking hands, "I know it's not mu-" but Marcus is on you before you can blink. Lips pressed to your neck, arms wrapped around you from behind, his hands slide from your hips to your breasts as he kicks the door closed behind you. 

He licks at your neck for a moment, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin as he grasps at your breasts through your dress, and you need to feel more of him, to feel his skin move against your own.

You spin around, kissing him deeply, as your fingers, drunk on lust and fine wine, fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and his start to work on the fastenings of your dress.

Both of your clothes are quickly tossed aside and he crowds you backwards until your legs hit the bed. You lean back on your arms to admire the sight of him standing before you in the moonlight, all broad shoulders, lean torso, just a hint of softness at the tummy. Further down, his pretty cock juts proudly from a whorl of dark hair. He strokes himself as he gazes down at you and you don't think you've ever seen anything sexier. 

You want to kiss it, and so you do. Leaning forward to press your lips against the head and licking softly, moaning at his whimper of pleasure and the salty taste of precome at the tip. He cradles your face in his hands as you take more of him in your mouth, sucking gently as you work him with your tongue. Marcus is noisy, grunts and moans falling from his lips and you revel in the sounds. 

Suddenly, he’s gently pushing you away and you're confused, but he's panting and his eyes are still dark with desire. 

"I won't last" he rasps, "it's been a while and I - I want to make this good for you." And how can you argue with that? 

He crawls up your body and kisses you deeply, as you run your hands across every inch of his warm, smooth skin that you can reach. You feel him grind against you and you're already so turned on that you're ready for him, but Marcus has other plans. 

He kisses down your body, rolling your nipples on his tongue and nipping at them with his teeth, caressing each small, sharp hurt away with a gentle brush of his lips. 

He kisses down further, mouthing across your stomach and hips until he reaches your mound. He slides to the floor, kneeling between your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, and your heart stutters when you realise he is pressing soft careful kisses around the mark on your knee from your fall the day before. And then he's back, between your thighs, lips soft and warm against your folds, beard tickling the sensitive skin. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit and it's like fireworks. He works you with his tongue, licking wide and wet, over and over, until you are _keening_ , hips rising to meet him as you grip handfuls of his soft hair between your fingertips. 

He uses one arm to pin you to the bed and suckles gently on your clit, sliding one thick finger inside you and then another, curling them until you’re gasping. The world narrows until all you can feel is his tongue swirling, and his fingers filling you right where you need him most, and then you're coming, pleasure coursing through you, and you know you’re panting both Marcus's name and God's, but you think they might be one and the same. 

Marcus doesn't relent until you can’t take any more, and then, placing one more loving kiss on your knee, he climbs up onto the bed alongside you. Once your breathing has steadied he encourages you up until your head is nestled on a pillow and the long length of him is pressed into your back, and he trails his fingers over your skin in the lightest and most tantalising way. 

His fingers falter.

 _"Shit,"_ his voice is rough against your skin and he sounds more upset than you've ever heard him. 

"What's wrong?"

"No condom. Wait here, I think there's a 24 hour _Farmacea_ a few blocks away." He sits up and starts to pull away, and you turn your head towards him in alarm. 

"I'm on the pill and I'm clean."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you clean?"

"Yeah, I had my medical 5 months ago and there’s been nobody since. Are you really sure?"

"Marcus I'm sure _I want you_ , now get back over here." He's barely moved half a foot away and already it's too far. 

To your delight, he takes instruction well, sinking back into the bed and sliding his arms around you, one under, one over as he spoons you, curving your bodies together. You let your head fall back as he licks and sucks at the pulse point in your throat. 

"God, you're beautiful," his voice is husky as he lifts your upper leg back over his thigh. You cant your hips towards him, craving the connection, needing to be closer, wanting _more_. His arm wrapped under you pulls you into his chest and then you can feel him, there, exactly where you want him. He thrusts forward, swiping his cock through your slick and you gasp as he strokes the firm velvety head against your still sensitive clit. 

"Marcus, please." 

"Please what baby?" You feel him smile against your neck as he presses sweet kisses there. 

" _Please_ fuck me." 

It is Marcus's turn to moan at your words, and then he's pressing into you, slowly. He's much bigger than you're used to, but you're ready for him and the stretch burns in the most delightful way. 

When he’s fully seated inside you, your breath catches, the fullness overwhelming, and then his fingers are soft on your jaw as he turns your head and kisses air back into your lungs. He begins to move, slow and as deep as the position will allow, and the feel of him is dizzying. He grunts softly with each thrust and one of his hands comes up to play with your nipples while the other slides down to where you are joined, his long fingers drawing tight circles just where you need it most. 

With every grind of his hips you feel a line drawing tight, from his fingers playing across your chest, down deep into your belly, to the hot stroke of him inside and you whimper. You reach back to run your fingers through the scruff on his jaw and he smiles down at you, gazing into your eyes as you draw his lips back to your own. He licks into your mouth sweetly, groaning as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth, and with that, the delicious tension in your belly reaches its crest. The taut line snaps, and you arch your back in ecstasy as pleasure flows through you in waves.

He moans at the feel of you clenching down on him and fucks you through your orgasm, his lips warm on your neck, hips picking up the pace as you shudder in his arms. Each thrust triggers a heavenly aftershock through your body and you grind back against him, chasing the sensation. 

" _Fuck_ , honey, I'm so close, I'm gonna… do you think you've got another one in you?" His voice is rough now, desperate.

You nod, vaguely aware that you are moaning, so utterly wrecked by _everything Marcus_ that you are unable to reply in coherent words. 

He runs his hand back down to stroke your clit again, and his fingers are rougher now, more needy but no less thrilling. 

"Come with me sweetheart," he murmurs, breath hot in your ear, "let me feel you." His whiskers rasp over your skin as he mouths at your neck, nipping gently with his teeth and then you're spiralling again, the pleasure softer than before but somehow more intense. He pistons into you a few more times, hard and deep and moans your name loudly as he comes, holding you tight as he pulses inside you. 

You sink into the mattress, limbs heavy with satisfaction, his panting breaths hot against your skin. When he starts to move you wordlessly hold him in place, unwilling to break the connection just yet. Revelling in the sensation of holding him inside you just a little longer. You both lie there, sweat cooling on your skin, the only sound your slowing breath and an occasional Vespa puttering by in the street below. 

Eventually, Marcus presses one last lingering kiss to your cheek before pulling away, and you sigh at the loss of him. He pads to the bathroom and returns with a damp washcloth to gently clean you up, and once that's achieved, he comes back to the bed where you lie shamelessly spreadeagled and entirely spent. He encourages you to lift your bottom up, pulling the sheet out from under you and drawing it up over you both. Cocooning you in the scent of clean cotton and the warm musk of his skin. As he tugs you close and you tangle your limbs together, you feel cared for and content in a way you've never known before. You lay with your head on his chest, and Marcus's voice rumbles beneath your ear. 

"That was…" He trails off.

"Special?" You offer; it's both a statement and a question. 

"Special," he agrees, raising your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly. "Very special indeed." You kiss his collarbone and drift off, happily cradled in his warm embrace. 

******************

A particularly loud car horn startles you awake and as you crack an eye open you can hear the bustle of people in the street outside. Sunlight streams in from the open balcony doors, and the gauzy white curtains flutter softly in the breeze. 

You sit up, still muzzy headed from the wine and your heart flutters when you remember the fabulous sex you had last night. The bed next to you is empty, the rumpled sheets cool to the touch, and you call Marcus's name but get no answer. You notice your clothes are no longer scattered across the floor but folded neatly on the dresser. But to your dismay there's no sign of Marcus's shirt and pants amongst your things. 

You know it's stupid but you can't help but call out his name again, your voice breaking as you see the bathroom door lying open and empty. 

You're all alone, and Marcus is gone. 

You scold yourself as tears roll down your cheeks. 

It was a wonderful night, but what did you expect, really? No promises were made. You'd just felt like it was more somehow, more than a simple one night stand. That he was _more_... hadn't he agreed it was special? 

It wasn't to be, but what a memory to look back on when you were old and grey. Hadn't that been what this trip was about after all, having adventures? Making memories? 

You drag your fingers over your face and slap at your own cheeks. _Get a grip girl._ You're in the most beautiful place on earth. You had one perfect night. That was more than some people got in a lifetime. What was done, was done. 

You force yourself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the water will wash away the sadness so you can begin again. 

It's a nice idea but it doesn't work, and if anything you feel more miserable by the time you're done. Your steps are heavy with heartache as you step out of the bathroom, chin tucked as you towel dry your hair. 

"Morning."

You shriek, nearly falling over, tearing the towel from your head and clutching it to your front, instinctively trying to cover your nakedness. 

And there, in front of you, sitting on the bed, looking like the most beautiful thing you've ever seen is Marcus Pike. 

You feel your jaw unhinge for a second and then you barrel towards him, towel forgotten as you fling your arms around his broad shoulders and press kisses across his gorgeous face. 

"Hey, hey! Not that I'm complaining but this is quite a greeting…" He pulls back from you, laughing, before kissing the tip of your nose. 

You're so happy to see him and you can feel your eyes start to well up with joy that he's really here. He came back. 

"Hey sweetheart, why the sad face, what's wrong?"

"I thought you’d gone." 

"Oh _honey_ , no. Hey..." He strokes his thumbs under your eyes to catch the tears that have escaped. "I saw that the breakfast here wasn't up to much." He gestures to the sad little basket of instant coffee packets and hazelnut wafers that are supplied with your room. "I just went to get us something to eat, I took your key and thought I'd be back before you woke up, but there was a queue at the bakery." True to his word there are two steaming coffee cups and a paper box from the bakers sitting on the bedside table. 

"You okay?" You nod. "Now not that I'd mind watching you eat like this," with a sigh he runs his hands down your sides, before gripping your ass cheeks salaciously, "but sadly it's probably not wise to drink hot cappuccino in the nude." He kisses you deeply one more time and you very reluctantly pull away and tug a sundress over your head.

He hands you a takeaway cup of coffee and you take a sip as he carefully lays out a selection of cannoli, sfogliatella and fresh fruit filled cannoncini for you to choose from. It's far too much for two, it would be too much for four, and he smiles sheepishly, "I wasn't sure what you'd like, and I may have over ordered a little." You laugh and give him your happiest smile, taking another drink of the delicious coffee. You're not sure that drinking caffeine is a great idea, your heart still hasn't stopped racing from the emotional roller coaster it's been on, but the rich roast feels decadent in your mouth. You settle next to him on the bed, wanting to be close, wanting to reassure yourself that he's really here, and he cuddles into you as much as he can while still eating. The pastry is crisp and buttery, its ricotta filling sweet and tart with a zing of lemon, and you let out a sigh of satisfaction as it melts on your tongue.

Once you've had your fill, you turn to Marcus and make it your mission to kiss the powdered sugar off his lips. You could stay here all day, all week, quite happily, but it seems he has something else in mind. He breaks your kiss and brushes your hair back from your face. 

"Do you have plans for today?"

"No," you smile and try to chase his lips with your own. 

"Come up to my hotel, we can spend the day by the pool and have dinner tonight," he starts to kiss down your neck. "There was a mixup with my room and they gave me a suite with a private hot tub. We could even get room service," he pulls back enough to let you see him wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, and you laugh.

"You're very convincing," you murmur as you press a tender kiss to the corner of his jaw.

"I'm glad you said that." His voice sounds different somehow, and this time you're the one to pull away, surprised by the emotion welling in his soft cocoa eyes. "It's 10am just now, and I was thinking at 3pm, 'cause of the time difference, I might phone my work in D.C. - see if I can take some more leave. I could join you on the rest of your trip, if you'd want me to?" His voice shakes with vulnerability and your heart aches that he's so unsure. 

"Yes," you say and kiss him hard. Somehow saying yes to Marcus is so easy, as easy as breathing and your heart soars that you get to keep him a bit longer. "You'd better promise to teach me all about the art at the Uffizi, and you have to kiss me in a gondola. That's like, _the law_ in Venice."

"The law?" He laughs, "well I can't break _the law_ now can I?" You shake your head, eyes bright with happiness. "How about this? I promise to kiss you everywhere we go for the rest of our time in Italy. How does that sound?"

"Just perfect," you breathe, pulling him in for another sweet kiss; and it does you think, it really does. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A little historical aside : All the Roman graffiti mentioned in this fic is real, as are the dirty frescoes. I recommend visiting Pompeii if you ever get the chance, and if you happen to run into your very own Marcus when you’re there, please tell him I said hi.
> 
> Thank you so much for any Kudos or comments you are kind enough to leave, and if any of you should want to say hi, I can be found most days on Tumblr under the same username. Thank you so much for reading!


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